


The One Where They Figure It Out

by 221BJen (jcoz1701)



Series: The One Where... [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Misunderstandings, post series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcoz1701/pseuds/221BJen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is curious about a photo from Sherlock's past and is thrilled to learn about his old friend, Victor Trevor. Until he actually shows up.</p>
<p>Or, my obligatory Victor Trevor offering to the Sherlock fandom. </p>
<p>All blame goes to Netflix for adding Friends to their line-up for the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, many thanks to diewarm who is still long-suffering and listens to me rant about fictional characters daily.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta, gowerstreet, who makes me a better writer. 
> 
> And thank you to jegray for your sharp eyes and always making sure the boys are where they are supposed to be.
> 
> This fic is completely done in my head and is almost completely written. The final chapters will be ready before they are scheduled to post. I plan on posting every few days until it is complete. 
> 
> Also, I will be at 221B Con this weekend, hope to see some of you there!!
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 1

John thumped the bags down on the table, carefully avoiding the various pieces of science equipment that littered the surface. He cocked his head, listening carefully for movement from Sherlock’s bedroom. Nothing. He was either at Bart’s or the Yard then.

As he started to put away the shopping, John couldn’t help taking a look around the flat and smiling. He had moved back to Baker Street six months ago after the Moriarty debacle had come to a head, proving that Mary was trying to take his place.

And to add insult to injury, they found out about the baby that wasn’t. She had fooled them all. Again. Sherlock had been beside himself. It had taken a lot of convincing on John’s part for him to accept that it wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t his fault. If it was anyone’s fault, it was John’s. He was the one that let her get close. He was the one that married her even after Sherlock’s miraculous return. He had only been able to give her a part of his heart before Sherlock had come back and after, well, that was a whole different story. One that Sherlock would never, ever know about. Not if John had any say in the matter.

He had got used to hiding again. After Sherlock’s speech at the wedding, he had to shut down the feelings that had resurfaced. And after Mary shot Sherlock, he clamped down on them even tighter, always wondering if that had been the tipping point for her to make that fateful choice. It didn’t matter what the catalyst was, she had done the unforgivable and he wasn’t ever going to be able to get past that. Their marriage had been over before more of her lies were found out, he just hadn’t accepted its death.

Having to sham forgiveness while Mycroft and Sherlock worked on finding out what else she had been hiding had been hellish. He was not that good of an actor and his anger bled through now and then.

It was exhausting forever hiding. There were days when they would get back to the flat after solving a case and he was sure, absolutely sure, that Sherlock had seen straight through him. Sometimes, he hoped he had. It would be a relief to have it out in the open. There was the infinitesimal chance that Sherlock felt the same way, but John couldn’t let himself hope.

The opposite was more likely true. Sherlock had become a different person after his return, it was true, but John had never seen any sign that he would be interested in a relationship with anyone, much less him. There was too much at stake for him to take that chance. He had lost Sherlock, had almost lost him for good a second time, or third if he counted that damn mission that Sherlock didn’t think he knew about.

It all boiled down to the risk being too great. So he stayed by Sherlock’s side, watched his back and generally kept the git from getting himself killed. And that would have to be enough. He had no plans of ever being anywhere else or with anyone else. Sherlock didn’t need to know, he’d figure it out eventually.

\--

And so it was to John’s utter shock and wonder as to what he discovered when he knocked over a stack of books that were haphazardly stacked on the corner of the desk. He rolled his eyes at the mess and had stooped to pick them up when he saw it. Out of one of Sherlock’s apiology books a picture had fluttered out and he picked it up without a second thought.

To his amazement there was a young Sherlock, probably in his very early twenties, staring back at him with a familiar sullen look that meant he was grudgingly doing something that he didn’t want to. The shocking part was the young man that was in the picture with him. He was tan and fit and had a blinding white smile. His arm was slung around Sherlock’s shoulders and, despite the sulky look on his face, John could just make out that Sherlock’s arm was around the fit bloke’s waist, his hand resting on his hip.

John turned the picture over and written on the back, in Mummy’s now familiar scribble, were the words ‘Sherlock and Victor - 1996’. He flipped it back over to take another look when he heard a familiar tread on the steps. He had been distracted and now he had no time to hide the photo without looking extremely guilty, so he put it on top of the stack of books that had now been returned to the desktop.

He turned away and pretended to tidy the papers that were strewn about when Sherlock swirled into the room, a flurry of wool coat and scarf. It always struck John at times like these how much space Sherlock took up by just entering a room. To other people, it was arrogance and haughtiness. But to John, he saw brilliance and a force of nature that he was privileged to be a part of in any small way that he could.

Sherlock saw through him immediately. He nodded in greeting and made a beeline for the desk to see what John was doing to the papers. He saw the picture right away and picked it up. John acted like he wasn’t paying attention to him and was determinedly stacking papers that didn’t need to be stacked, watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye.

Sherlock’s face softened for a split second. John knew that Sherlock knew that he had seen the picture and he was now battling with himself over whether to say anything or not. When questioned directly, Sherlock would shut down if the topic bordered anywhere near emotion or sentiment, so John took the scenic route.

“Sorry about that. It fell out of one of these books and I wasn’t sure which one.” John moved away from the desk and headed toward the kitchen to put the kettle on. “Tea?”

“Please.” Sherlock was still holding the picture as though he had forgotten it was in his hand. John leaned against the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil, and watched him. He prided himself on being the foremost expert on Sherlock Holmes and knew that one of two things were about to happen. Scenario one would find the picture placed back in the book and the subject would never be spoken of again. Scenario two, which was the one that John was hoping for, would give insight into the making of this brilliant man.

John hungered for information about Sherlock’s past. It wasn’t fair that he was able to be read like a book and all, or most, of his secrets laid bare to deductions. His dead parents, his alcoholic sister, his military history, his now ex-wife and imaginary child, all out there for the taking. All but the most important secret of all. Sometimes, he believed that he let all of the other bits of his life stay transparent so that Sherlock wouldn’t try to look any deeper. He had to. Sherlock wasn’t the only one that could hide in plain sight.

And so he waited. Waited to see if any crumbs would come his way. For once, he wasn’t disappointed.

“John?”

John made a noise of acknowledgement from where he was completing his tea making and wandered back into the sitting room, plunking Sherlock’s mug on the desk beside him. John sat in his chair, feeling like he was trying not to startle a small woodland creature.

“Have I ever told you about Victor Trevor?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last update until after 221B Con. I might get an update in Sunday night, if not it will be Monday. Hope to see some of you at the con!!

Chapter 2

He barely restrained an eyeroll or a snarky remark to the fact that of course he hadn’t said anything about anyone or anything that might possibly crack the mystery of his time pre-John. Instead, John chose to shake his head. He concentrated on his tea with single-minded focus so as not to let on how desperately he wanted Sherlock to continue this conversation.

Silence again. Sherlock returned the photo to the stack of books and took his mug to his chair. He blew on his tea before absentmindedly taking a sip and appeared to be lost in thought. His eyes flicked up to John’s and he seemed to make a decision.

“We met at university.” Sherlock looked into his mug, pondering his next words. “Victor was, well, brilliant. He was studying history and was a year ahead of me. We met purely by accident.” He glanced at John, thinking of their chance meeting. If John hadn’t picked that moment to take a walk— Sherlock blinked. John looked at him expectantly, giving him his full attention.

“And by accident, I mean that his dog took a bite out of my leg.” John snorted. Sherlock mock-glared at him. “Do you want to hear this or not?” He was beginning to think that this was a mistake but John’s earnest nod proved that he should continue. “He had a small terrier-like dog and it escaped its lead on a pathway near Cambridge. I was gathering samples from the river there and accidentally stepped on its foot. It retaliated by biting me badly enough that I needed stitches.” Sherlock drew up his trouser leg and John could see the faint scar on the side of his calf. He winced in sympathy.

“That must have hurt.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to snort. “It did. And it bled quite a bit. Victor was horrified that his dog had caused such a wound and insisted on helping me to the nurse. I tried to dissuade him but,” Sherlock smiled to himself, “Victor was very adamant.”

John leaned back in his chair, torn between feelings of jealousy over someone that Sherlock thought of fondly and relief that Sherlock had someone during those difficult years. He remembered the cruel words that Sebastian Wilkes had so nonchalantly spat out. He hurriedly smoothed his face before Sherlock could notice and hoped that he would continue.

Sherlock hadn’t observed the conflicted emotions on John’s face. He hadn’t thought of Victor in a few years and now he had been reminded of him twice in a very short period. He hadn’t told John that he had received an email through his website from Victor earlier that week. It seemed that he had a light-fingered employee but they couldn’t prove it. He had initially ignored the email but now, with the revelation of the picture, he was having second thoughts. He broke out of his reverie, realizing that John was still waiting for him to continue.

“He visited me in my room while my leg was healing and I suppose we became...” he swallowed, “...friends.”

“Friends?”

Sherlock ducked his head. “Perhaps a bit more than that.” He didn’t miss John’s reaction to that revelation. The sharply drawn in breath was all he needed to hear. “You shouldn’t put so much faith in the things that my brother says,” Sherlock chided him quietly. “He is not as omniscient as he thinks he is.”

“I didn’t, I mean-“ John broke off, knowing that Sherlock could see right through him. “I told you it’s all fine and I meant it, Sherlock. It’s just something that we don’t really talk about. You know all about me, but I can’t do what you do. I’m the idiot here, remember?” He tried to lighten the mood but the joke fell a bit flat.

Sherlock gave him a look. “Not always an idiot.” The fondness in his voice was something else that John didn’t expect. He decided to push a bit.

“So tell me about him.”

Sherlock actually blushed. “As I said, after my injury and his persistence in making sure I was alright, we became friends. He was, and still is I imagine, a very intelligent and personable man. He was a bit of a conundrum and I suppose that is what made him interesting.”

“How so?”

“He played rugby and other sports while working towards becoming a graduate historian and also had a love for philosophy.”

“So he was fit and athletic but also smart enough to keep up with you, then?” John grinned at him.

“That would be an accurate assessment.” He glanced at John to see if he was being mocked, but all he saw was honest interest on his face. “I had never been interested in such,” he paused, “things before, you know from our run-in with Sebastian what most of my peers thought of me, but Victor was-“

“Different?”

“Yes. Most people find me off-putting and I usually encourage that reaction.”

“That’s only because they never took the time to get to know you,” John said softly. “You didn’t try that with me.”

“You’re not most people.”

It was John’s turn to flush. “So how long were you, um, together?”

“Almost two years.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Sherlock’s lips pressed into a line. This was the question that he was afraid to answer. “The last summer that we were together, we spent at Victor’s family home. It was just him and his father and a small staff. His father had done well for himself after they relocated to the UK from the States and he had expected Victor to follow in his footsteps. It was a small point of contention as Victor had no interest in his father’s business.”

“What did he do? The business, I mean?”

“Foreign trade. Goods and services, that kind of thing. Victor wanted to become a professor or possibly a professional rugby player, he could never decide.” Sherlock smiled at the memory but that quickly turned back into a frown. “Victor was bragging one evening at dinner, about my deductive skills, and his father challenged me to see what I could deduce about him.”

“I take it that it didn’t go well?”

Sherlock nodded. “In my eagerness to show off and impress my boyfriend’s father, I deduced something by accident from a tattoo that I had seen earlier in the day while we were by the pool. He had the initials J.A. tattooed on his arm and I incorrectly deduced that the initials must have belonged to a previous romantic partner. I was wrong, very wrong.”

“What happened?”

“Mr. Trevor was so startled that I had noticed the tattoo and drawn attention to it that he blacked out. We immediately went to help him and by the time he had regained consciousness, he insisted that he was fine and that it must have been the day in the sun that had caused him to pass out. He refused Victor’s immediate reaction to call 999 and excused himself to bed early.” Sherlock’s frown deepened. “As was discovered later, the initials on his arm were his own. He used to go by the name James Armitage and had got into some trouble with a bank that he used to work for. This was before he had met Victor’s mother and by then he had already changed his identity.”

“Why did he have to do that?”

“The trouble with the bank involved a embezzling conspiracy that was spearheaded by a coworker named Jack Prendergrast. Not only did Armitage get pulled into his scheme but also a man named Evans and another named Hudson. When they were eventually caught, Prendergrast claimed innocence and blamed the other three.”

“And he was the instigator of the whole plan? What a wanker!”

John’s reaction did pull a small grin from Sherlock’s lips. “True. Very true. Armitage, Evans and Hudson turned state’s witness and told all. Prendergrast, it turns out, had very deep pockets and some involvement with organized crime and was able to pay his way out with money and influence. This also put the three on the radar of some very bad men and for their testimony they were put into the Witness Protection Program. Shortly after James Armitage became Victor Trevor, he met my Victor’s mother. They continued to live in the States until Victor was 15 and then moved to the UK to be closer to his mother’s family. Victor’s mother died shortly after the move from cancer. By the time it was discovered it was very far gone and there was nothing that they could do.”

“That must have been hard for him.”

“It was. It makes me wonder if the next set of events would have happened if she had lived.”

John leaned forward, fascinated by this story of Sherlock’s past and the part that it played in what he did today. “Go on. I mean, if it’s not too difficult to talk about.”

That earned him a look. “It’s in the past, why would it be difficult?” John rolled his eyes. Sherlock continued. “After that revelatory dinner, Trevor Sr was very distant and not as welcoming as he had been when I had first arrived a few weeks before. I know it was not the relationship that I had with his son, as he had always been very accepting of it, so it had to be something to do with the tattoo.”

“And you couldn’t let it go.” John knew how Sherlock was when he got his teeth into a mystery, he could only imagine how he would have been back then.

Sherlock looked down at his hands. “Unfortunately, yes. This led to Victor taking his father’s side and driving a wedge in between us. His father manufactured a reason for them to have to go out of town and I was sent home early. It was clear what he was doing and Victor allowed it without a fight.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I went home and when we returned to university, Victor wouldn’t even talk to me. So that was the end of that. It was several months later that the entire truth came out about his father’s real identity. I read about his suicide in the papers. Victor moved back to the States shortly after.” Sherlock considered his next words carefully, calculating whether or not he should let John know about his recent contact with Victor. Why should John care?

“That sounds awful, Sherlock. It’s was wrong for them to treat you like that.”

Sherlock nodded. “It was. Mummy was beside herself. She really liked Victor.” _Just like she likes you_ was his unspoken thought.

“I’ll bet she was. Your mum seems, um, very protective.”

Sherlock chuckled at that. “That she is.” He made a decision. “It’s odd that you found that picture when you did.”

“Why’s that?”

“Victor actually contacted me through my website with a problem that he’s having with an employee. He suspects embezzling, ironically enough.”

“Oh? In the States? Seems like a long way for you to work your deductive skills.”

“Actually, Victor is back in London now. Has been for a few months. He’s out of town at the moment but he mentioned stopping by when he’s back.” Sherlock looked up just in time to catch an odd look on John’s face. It was there and then gone in a second. Was that jealousy? What reason would John have to be jealous?

“I see. Well, that’s, good?” John’s chest felt tight as a wave of jealousy bordering on anger swept through him. Calm. He needed to be calm. It didn’t mean anything that Sherlock’s ex was in town. Did it? And if it did what claim did he have? None. Absolutely none. He met Sherlock’s eyes and took another sip of his tea. It had gone cold so he used that as an excuse to go back to the kitchen and out of that penetrating gaze. He could feel Sherlock’s eyes following him as if he were trying to read John’s mind. He dumped out the mug and rinsed it out just to waste a few more seconds. It was time to change the subject. Immediately.

“Dinner?”

Sherlock was still giving him an odd look. John kept his face even and blank. “Sherlock?”

“What?”

“Dinner? I was thinking Chinese.”

Sherlock looked as if he were about to ask a question but changed his mind at the last minute. “The usual, please.”

John nodded and went into the kitchen with his mobile to place the order.

Sherlock watched him, wondering.

\--

After dinner, shared side by side on the sofa with mindless telly in the background, things seemed fairly normal. As normal as they had been since John’s return to 221B, anyway. There was still some residual tension there, but Sherlock knew that it would take time for John to get past Mary’s betrayal. He knew that John still had moments of anger at him for his ‘death’ and that had been further in the past. Some days it was hard to tell who John was more angry with.

And now there was the odd reaction to the news that Victor Trevor was back in town. Sherlock had appreciated John’s eagerness to hear the story from his past and it had felt good to share it with him, but the reaction at the end at that particular tidbit was very strange. The jealousy that had flashed across his face was something that Sherlock could not forget.

Why would John be jealous? He had acknowledged the fact that Sherlock did in fact have a sexual past and had seemed fine with that. It was true that they had never discussed that before beyond the denial of all of Janine’s tales to the newspapers.

John had asked him about that hesitantly one night after they had both settled into the sitting room after a bracing glass of whisky. Sherlock had assured him that all of the stories were false and that Janine had actually been in on the plan from the beginning. She had had enough of Magnussen’s abuse and had jumped at the chance to pull one over on him and profit from it at the same time. The relief on John’s face had also been a bit hurtful, if Sherlock was truly honest with himself, though he should have expected that. He had played his role perfectly, fooling even John with his performance that he had seduced and then discarded her so callously for the case.

That night had also led to a revelation that had taken Sherlock by surprise. It had to have been the alcohol that fueled it but John had talked to Sherlock about a past relationship from back in his army days. Sherlock had wondered about John’s reaction to James Sholto’s appearance at his wedding and now he knew for sure that his feeling was correct. They had become very close friends and that led to a brief affair while stationed together. Sherlock was hard-pressed not to show his surprise at this revelation but it explained the sense of a kindred spirit that he had picked up on from Sholto. He had loved John Watson in the past and now Sherlock had realized the same thing.

He had accepted that the feelings that he experienced while away were not just extreme loneliness for his life back in London. It was for his life with John. A life that he never expected to have again after he saw John for the first time at the restaurant with Mary, just about to propose. He should have turned and walked back out the door but he couldn’t help himself. As much as it pained him to admit it, Mycroft had been right about that point. It had not been well received.

By the time that John had started speaking to him and had at least forgiven him on the surface, he had accepted the fact that he was in love with John. When asked to be the best man at John’s wedding, he selfishly used the speech as an excuse to tell him this wrapped up in a way that he would not suspect that it was anything further than platonic. He wouldn’t do that to John Watson. He couldn’t.

The drugs that he used as a subterfuge for the Magnussen case had been a huge mistake, he was ashamed now to admit. They helped with the case, but he also used them to forget. When he was high, it didn’t hurt as much to know that John was living with his wife and would never come back. Not in the same way, at least. He had assumed that John might go on the odd case or two until the baby came and then the excuses would come. The cases that he was involved in would be further and further apart until they only saw each other occasionally. He would become someone that John used to know.

The knowledge of that future had fueled the drug use to an amount that was above and beyond necessary for the case. If John hadn’t found him when he did, Sherlock was still unsure what would have happened. Actually he knew exactly what would have happened. He would have tackled Magnussen alone and Mary would have killed him outright. If John hadn’t been in the other room, he was certain that the bullet would have lodged in his brain instead of his chest.

That was something that John never needed to know. He would just add it to the list.

He pondered John’s reaction to Victor while he brushed his teeth and prepared for bed. What reason would John have to be jealous? Was he assuming that this contact meant that he had a renewed interest in Victor? And if he did, which he didn’t, why would this affect John?

John was the one that was going to end up leaving again. Sherlock knew that the dating would start again within a few months. It was inevitable. And it wasn’t just women that he had to worry about, there was the possibility of a man thrown into the mix. This made him pause, toothbrush still in his mouth. What if John took up with another man?

His chest felt as though something was squeezing his heart. It was an odd feeling and he suddenly realized that he was standing there with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth in front of the sink. He quickly finished up and went to his room.

He plugged the charger into his mobile and got under the covers. He heard John call out good night to him and he returned it after a few moments. He turned off the light, turning on his side away from the door so that he would appear to be asleep if John looked in on him. He tended to do this some nights, as if he were still checking to see if Sherlock was actually there.

Sherlock hoped that he didn’t decide to do that tonight. Sleep would not be coming anytime soon.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! The con was fantastic and I met so many lovely people!
> 
> The story continues...

Chapter 3

To: sholmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk

From: vtrevor@trevorconsulting.com

Subject: I have a case for you

Will -

I know it’s been awhile since we last spoke but something has come up in our office that I need your help with. I have an employee that I believe has been stealing from us for years, but we have been unable to figure out how they’re doing it so far. I thought that you might be able to take a look for old times’ sake.

Thanks,

Victor

\--

To: vtrevor@trevorconsulting.com

From: sholmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk

Subject: Re: I have a case for you

Victor -

It has been a long time. I appreciated your help at our last contact but you realize that even I cannot solve a case in the States from London.

Sherlock Holmes

\--

To: sholmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk

From: vtrevor@trevorconsulting.com

Subject: I have a case for you in our London office

Will -

I forgot to mention, I’m not in the States any longer.  I figured you would have deduced it. We moved the business to London a few months ago. Sorry that I haven’t been in contact. Are you still at the same number? My cell number is below.

07422 144563

Victor

\--

**It’s always something. Can you give me more information? SH**

**About the case? Or why I’m back in London? VT**

**The case. SH**

**Right to the point, same old Will. VT**

**I don’t go by that name any longer. SH**

**You’ll always be Will to me.  VT**

**The case? SH**

**Right. An employee has been embezzling money but we don’t know how. We know it’s electronic but haven’t been able to find the code yet. VT**

**Obvious. Send me the reports and I’ll find it. SH**

**Can I bring them by? VT**

**Email is more efficient. SH**

**I thought you met your clients in person. VT**

**We do. If they’re interesting. SH**

**We? I thought John was married and out of the detective business. VT**

**Things change. SH**

**Do they? How about dinner? VT**

**Bring the reports to 221B Baker Street tomorrow at 6. SH**

**So that’s a no, then. Fine. I’ll see you then. VT**

Sherlock looked at his mobile and studied Victor’s last text. Why had he not insisted on email? It really would be more efficient and he knew that Victor was blatantly trying to see if Sherlock was interested in rekindling some sort of relationship. Friendship or something more? Sherlock shook his head at that thought.

A long time ago he might have considered it but those days were past. He was tolerably happy with the way things were now. John was back at Baker Street and that would have to be enough. He wouldn’t want to mar things by having someone hanging about trying to rekindle an old flame. It wouldn’t work at any rate. He didn’t feel that way about Victor any longer. He still admired him but he would never get involved with him again. Not when he had John in his life.

\--

John heard it as he unlocked the door after his shift, Sherlock’s laugh. He cocked his head, wondering who on earth could make Sherlock laugh like that besides him. He winced at the tiny hint of jealousy at the thought but had to accept the truth of it. Mrs. Hudson could elicit a chuckle every now and then, but never that lovely deep from the gut laugh that he heard right now. It certainly wasn’t Mycroft and Greg was usually too annoyed with him to joke around lately. Well. One way to find out.

He slowly climbed the steps and could hear another man’s voice through the open door of the flat. And Sherlock was laughing again. John quickened his steps and hesitated for only a second before entering, feeling out of place in their home and not quite sure why.

Sherlock was in his chair, and in John’s chair was the man that could only be the boy in the picture. Victor Trevor.

“Ah, yes. John, there you are.” Sherlock spoke as if he had no idea where John had been, even though they kept his schedule on the fridge and he reminded him that morning that he had a shift at the clinic. Before he could make introductions, the man facing him jumped to his feet and approached, hand out.

“John Watson. So good to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Will. Victor Trevor.”

John almost faltered when he heard the name ‘Will’, but covered it well, extending his hand for shaking. “I wish I could say the same, but Sherlock hasn’t said much about you. He did mention that you might have a case for him.” He glanced at Sherlock and could see that he was being deduced. Victor resumed his seat in John’s chair and Sherlock kept his eyes on John, watching for a reaction. John wasn’t going to give him one.

“Tea?” He headed to the kitchen and refilled the kettle, flipping on the switch. “I know that one hasn’t offered.” He saw Sherlock roll his eyes.

“Yes, yes, your attempts at domestication have failed. I am a heathen for not offering tea to a guest.”

Victor chuckled at the back and forth. “I can see why he likes you.”

John smiled and concentrated on the tea. He put together the tray, unearthed from a lower cabinet marked ‘No experiments, you giant git’, adding the sugar bowl and the milk pitcher that he had hidden as well. He was not listening in on Sherlock and Victor’s conversation. Really.

“You’re looking well.” John tried not to hear the admiration in Victor’s comment, but it was there plain as day. “Better than the last time I saw you, that’s for sure.” John heard Sherlock make a noncommittal noise and Victor continued. “Must have been, hmm, about two years ago? Boston?”

John dropped the spoon that he had been holding with a clatter. Two years ago? That would have been when Sherlock was dead. That meant that even this mysterious man from Sherlock’s past got to know and he didn’t. John gripped the edge of the counter, attempting to calm his breathing. He heard Sherlock say his name as if from a great distance, barely registering over the pounding of his heart.

John flinched, almost upsetting the tea tray, when he felt a hand on his elbow. Sherlock looked at him with concern and then narrowed his eyes. He looked up at Sherlock and he wasn’t sure what the expression on his face said but Sherlock’s face fell. He could see that John had just put together what Victor had so casually let loose.

John picked the tray up, shoving it into Sherlock’s surprised hands, and fled to the sitting room taking care not to touch him. He grabbed his coat and scarf and mumbled something about forgetting something at the surgery, ignored Victor’s surprised face and ran.

\--

Sherlock knew what John assumed. That this was yet another person that had been in on the plan when he had been left out. Unfortunately, this time he was correct but not in the way that he thought. Unlike Molly or Mycroft, Sherlock had not included Victor from the beginning but found himself in need of assistance in the first year of his pursuit of Moriarty’s web. While in America, far beyond Mycroft’s reach, he had made a series of discoveries that had led directly into the heart of an organized crime family in Boston.

This group meshed directly with the elite and well to do and so he found himself at a party, his cover as a spoiled and arrogant visiting cousin not difficult to manufacture. To his chagrin, one of the daughters of the higher ups took a shine to him and was drawing unwanted attention from her father. He was actually starting to get nervous until he heard a familiar voice from the past and he could have sighed in relief if he hadn’t been busy trying to talk his way out of the situation.

He was able to gracefully extricate himself from the conversation with the woman’s father and turned to greet Victor like a long lost friend. Which was not too terribly far from the truth. Fortunately, Victor was still a very convincing actor and didn’t miss a beat aside from the wide-eyed look that no one but Sherlock would have picked up on. Victor played up the obvious connection they shared to put an end to the daughter’s attentions and it afforded Sherlock a much needed escape.

Victor had been utterly shocked to see him. He, of course, had heard the news of Sherlock’s suicide from an old university friend and had been heartbroken that he was unable to attend the funeral. Mostly because there wasn’t one. Mycroft had seen to that and John hadn’t been in a state to fight him on it.

He had managed to hold off his questions until they were safely inside his apartment, but only just. The moment they were inside he had engulfed Sherlock in a hug, Sherlock gingerly returning it at first and then falling into it. He had been so lonely and missed John so much, even though they had never been overly tactile. It just felt good to be held. He grimaced at the thought and immediately pulled away from Victor.

“Will. I, you, what?”

“Eloquent as always, Victor.” Sherlock smirked at his confusion.

“You ass! Why? Why did you do it?”

Sherlock moved further away crossing his arms. He really didn’t want to talk about this with Victor but he knew that he wouldn’t drop it without some sort of explanation.

“How much do you know about what I did?”

Victor thought for a moment. “I know that you finally made a go of the consulting detective thing, good for you by the way, and I’ve followed your blog and John Watson’s blog.”

Sherlock closed his eyes at the sound of John’s name. Victor didn’t miss that but continued unabated.

“I know that you had gotten mixed up in something big, but Will, I read the last entry that John made. It was heartbreaking. How could you do that to him?”

Damn Victor’s powers of observation.

“It was unavoidable.” Sherlock decided he didn’t want to talk about John any longer and changed the subject. “I am currently in the process of dismantling a criminal network, I don’t have time to discuss matters of sentiment.”

He could tell by the look on Victor’s face that he wasn’t ready to drop this yet.

“How long had you two been together?”

Even though Victor was far from the first person to make this assumption, the question was painful now with the distance between them. “We weren’t together. We never were.”

That earned him raised eyebrows and a look of incredulity. “I would never have guessed that from the blog.”

“Embellishments for the readers only, I assure you.” If John had been mine, I never could have left him.

“Oh. That’s-“

“None of your business. However, I could do with some assistance.”

“Anything, you need Will. You know that.”

“What’s your wifi password?”

—

And that was the whole of it. Victor provided a stable base of operations while Sherlock finished his research on the mob tie-in to Moriarty and he gladly took advantage of his hospitality. And his high speed internet connection.

He caught Victor looking at him from time to time but he pushed the observations out of his mind. Victor still had some residual guilt over how their relationship had ended but Sherlock required all of his focus on the task at hand. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could get back home. Back to John.

It took him almost a month, but he finally did it. He was able to pinpoint the main player and, with Mycroft’s help, was able to provide the FBI with enough information under an assumed name to have him arrested. It would take him out of the picture for long enough that the rest of the structure would become unstable and start to unravel. At least he hadn’t had to kill anyone. Yet.

Victor had not tried to hide his interest but he had been respectful of what Sherlock was doing. He had managed to get Sherlock to open up a bit with him about what had happened in the years since they were last in contact and he now knew the whole sordid story. The drugs and the struggle to get off them after Lestrade insisted that he be clean in order to do the work.

They didn’t talk about John.

Victor had tried bringing the subject up again a few times, but the silence that filled the apartment for hours after had put a stop to that. However, the last night that Sherlock was there, Victor broke out some very nice wine with dinner and they may have had a bit too much to drink. Sherlock was feeling pleasantly buzzed when Victor brought John up again.

“Tell me about him.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play stupid, Will. You know who.”

Sherlock looked into his wineglass and took a drink before answering. “He’s a paradox.”

“A paradox?”

“He’s ordinary in a way that should be boring, wrapped in horrible jumpers, but he’s not. Not at all.”

“You miss him.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but he did. He really, really did. He missed the steady loyal presence by his side and had caught himself talking to John several times. Victor had overheard that as well and had the good sense not to say a word about it.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“You need to talk to someone.”

“And you think that someone should be you?” _A bit not good, Sherlock_. He could hear John’s voice now. “Apologies.”

“No worries.” Victor contemplated him for a moment. “Do you ever think we could-“

“I don’t think so.”

“Right.” He could see the disappointment on Victor’s face.

“You don’t want this. Not as I am now.”

“Maybe I’ll look you up when you’re all done with this mess, then.”

Sherlock’s lips quirked. “Maybe.”

—

“Will?”

Sherlock was yanked back to the present by Victor’s voice. He sounded like it wasn’t the first time that he had said his name.

Sherlock looked down at the tray in his hands as if he’d never seen one before. He placed it carefully on the counter and gripped the edge in an unconscious imitation of the way John had. Stupid. He was so stupid to have allowed Victor in the same room with John. The man had no sense of propriety and now-

“Will?”

“Yes?”

“There you are. How about dinner?”

He wasn’t even sure of his motivation for the introduction. He could have easily looked into Victor’s transparent embezzling case and solved it without even seeing him in person but he wanted to prove, what? That someone cared about him, could put up with him? And now look at them. He sighed and put his polite face back on.

“Is he okay?” Victor seemed genuinely concerned and completely unaware of the bomb that he had just dropped on their lives.

Sherlock checked his phone, hoping for a message from John. Nothing.

“Probably not. Dinner would be fine.”

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of Molly being a really good friend to both of the boys after all she did to help Sherlock.

Chapter 4

John wasn’t even aware of where he was going. He hit the pavement in front of Baker Street and just started walking. It was bad enough that he had to see a reminder that Sherlock Holmes did in fact do relationships but then to have it thrown in his face that yet another person got to know about- He couldn’t even complete that thought.

_Just transport, my arse_.

John knew it wasn’t fair for him to continue to blame Sherlock for the choice that he made to save his life. He had heard the reasons for it and while it was a foolish thing that he did, John knew that he wouldn’t be standing there if Sherlock hadn’t made that sacrifice. He knew it was the biggest sacrifice that the normally self-centered man could have made. He gave up his life as he knew it for three people that he cared about and called friend. And John was eternally grateful to him for it. But the hurt would come out at the most inopportune times.

Anything could set it off and after hearing that Sherlock’s ex was one of the people that he went to, especially after he had treated him unfairly at such a young age- Why? Why him and not John? That was what it always circled back to. John would have given anything to help Sherlock.

But, no. That choice hadn’t been offered to him. Sherlock had taken it upon himself, as always, to make the decisions without him. Just like trying to get himself killed by going back to Serbia. Just like telling him to trust Mary.

John looked up to get his bearings and was surprised to see that he had automatically walked to Bart’s Hospital. He had been here in some capacity so many times, he had just headed there on autopilot. Right away, he knew exactly who he wanted to talk to. One of the other people that Sherlock trusted over John. Molly.

—

Molly Hooper was still in the lab. John wasn’t surprised because he knew she liked to work late because there were fewer people there at that time. Also, he suspected that this way her shifts lined up with a certain Detective Inspector’s. He knew that Greg and Molly had started seeing each other a few months after her engagement with Tom had ended. It was good to see them happy together.

“Hello there, Molly. Busy?”

“Nothing too pressing, John.” She looked behind him as if expecting Sherlock to magically appear. “You meeting Himself?”

“Nope. He’s meeting with a client right now.” This elicited an odd look.

“Hang on, let me clean up a bit. Back in a tick.” She went through the double doors to deglove and wash up. She came back, drying her hands. “What can I do for you?”

Now that John was here, he didn’t quite know where to begin. He wondered if Molly would think him silly for asking questions about Sherlock’s time away after so much time had passed. But he just had to know.

“Well, you see…” Might as well dive right in. “How much contact did you have with Sherlock while he was away?”

“What’s happened?” Molly looked frightened. He couldn’t blame her, even though he envied her involvement he also admired how much bravery it had taken to do what she had done to help.

He held up a calming hand. “Nothing bad, I promise. It’s just, well, I know this is crazy but…” He was about to call the whole thing off when Molly spoke up.

“It was emails mostly. A few texts here and there. I was actually surprised that he checked in at all, but Sherlock never does what you expect, does he?”

“No. No he doesn’t.” John said, thinking about the man sitting in his chair right now. “I was wondering about the time he spent in the States.”

“Oh.” Molly thought about this for a moment. “I did hear from him a few times while he was there. I think he was there for a couple of months or so.”

“Oh.”

“John.” She put a hand on his arm. “What’s happened?” This last was asked very gently. After Molly had gotten over her crush on Sherlock and had relaxed around them, she had become a very good friend.

“The client that Sherlock is meeting with at the flat, well he, he’s an old friend from uni.”

“A friend or a _friend_?”

 John snorted. “The second kind. Sherlock told me about Victor a little bit and now he’s just shown up out of the blue.”

 “Huh. I didn’t even know that he did _that_. What did he have to do with Sherlock while he was away?”

This was embarrassing. “I overheard him say something and it seems that Sherlock stayed with him while he was in Boston. I don’t know anything else because I well-“

“Stormed off in a huff?” Molly knew him well.

“Something like that.” John hung his head, fiddling with the pen lying on top of some papers. “Just when I think I’m completely over that-“

“You’re reminded of it and it just slaps you in the face. You went through hell while he was gone, John. There’s no shame in that.” She paused. “Why is it bothering you so much? I mean, he had to use whatever resources he could while he was gone.”

“I know, I know. I’m just being stupid. It’s just one more person that got to help him and I wasn’t even given the choice.”

“You know why he had to do it, why you couldn’t know. He was so scared, John, so scared that it would go wrong and something would happen to you.”

He and Molly had never really discussed it by some unspoken agreement. Maybe they should have.

“And Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. Yeah, I know.”

“No, John. You don’t.” She shook her head, searching for the words. “He had to stay at my flat for a few days while Mycroft finished putting the pieces in place so that he could leave the country and I’ve never seen him like that before. He was a wreck. It took me forever to get the reek of cigarettes to go away.”

John quirked a smile at this. “That bad, huh?”

She didn’t smile. “I overheard him talking to Mycroft when he thought that I was asleep. He said ‘You keep an eye on him. All of this is for nothing if something happens while my back is turned. Mycroft, please.’ I’ve never heard him beg for anything and that’s exactly what he was doing.”

John couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. “I had no idea.”

“How long have you been back at Baker Street?” The abrupt subject change was jarring.

“About six months, why?”

She gave him a look. “Don’t you think it’s time?”

He couldn’t look at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She sighed heavily and said something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Stubborn arses.” She folded her arms and glared at him. “I’ve seen you two together. When are you going to get over yourselves and take a chance?”

“I don’t, I don’t think that-“

“You do know. He loves you, John. He just doesn’t know how to do this part. You’re going to have to take the lead because he will never make a move.” Molly’s uncharacteristically forceful words had the air of something that she had longed to say but never had. “I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business but watching you two dance around each other now is just so frustrating! I just want to bash your heads together sometimes.”

He couldn’t help but gape at her. “You don’t understand. It might ruin everything.”

“And it might not. Why don’t you go home and talk to him instead of hanging out in the morgue with me?”

He nodded. That is exactly what he should do. Molly was right, it was time. And if Victor sodding Trevor is what it took to give him a kick in the arse, then so be it.

“Thanks, Molly.”

“Anytime.”

**Sorry about that. Headed home now. We need to talk. JW**

He waited for the usual immediate return message but his phone didn’t ping until he was almost home.

**Out with Victor discussing the case. May be late. Talk in the morning? SH**

John looked at the message, trying to not read too much into it. Surely Sherlock wouldn’t be- He sighed and typed out a response.

**Fine. See you in the morning. JW**

John couldn’t help the sharp pang of disappointment that welled up inside him. It figured that the moment he finally decided to make a move, Sherlock would be the one that was unavailable.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

Sherlock checked his mobile again after pulling on his coat and scarf, still no message from John. What did that mean? Where did he go? Why hadn’t he just told John what had happened? Oh, that’s right. They didn’t talk about it. They never talked about it. Beyond the few details that John had specifically asked for, such as why he felt he had to leap off of a building, they had never discussed what had happened while he was gone.

“Ready?”

Victor was indeed still there.

He looked at his mobile once more. “Yes.”

They walked down the stairs and out the front door. Victor hailed a cab moments after stepping out on the pavement. “Where to?”

“Wherever you like.”

“There’s a good French place by the office, that okay?”

“Fine.”

Victor told the cabbie the address and they were off. He could see the change in Sherlock’s demeanor and he had a good idea what was causing it.

“So. You and John?”

“No.”

“No, you’re not together, or no, you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Take your pick. Either choice would be accurate.”

Victor shook his head. Some things never changed and that included certain broody bastards. He knew if he bided his time, he might be able to get him to open up.

No other words were exchanged before they arrived at the restaurant. Victor opened the door for Sherlock to sweep inside and he approached the host to inquire about a table. After they relinquished their coats and scarves, they were seated at an intimate table near the back. The waiter lit the candle in the center and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Assumptions were tedious and poorly thought out. To attempt intimacy at what was clearly a business meeting was ridiculous.

Victor picked up the wine menu and tilted it toward Sherlock in question. “Will? Would you like to pick?”

Sherlock took the menu and ordered a nice white that would go well with the seafood selections at this particular place. He ordered for them both, Victor nodding his approval. As soon as the wine glasses had been placed on the table, his mobile buzzed in his pocket.

**Sorry about that. Headed home now. We need to talk. JW**

Interesting. He considered his choices. He could leave Victor at the table and head back home directly to find out exactly how John was going to react to what he had overheard. He hated not knowing.

Or he could stay, enjoy a meal with Victor and hopefully wrap up the case, essentially ending this point of contact with Victor so that he could concentrate fully on the other issue. He made a decision.

**Out with Victor discussing the case. May be late. Talk in the morning? SH**

This was a gamble. John was already upset with him and would probably be more upset if he postponed this discussion until the morning. If he was completely honest with himself, he was avoiding the conversation. The ball of guilt that he felt in the pit of his stomach each time that John went for a walk as a result of another reminder of his time away was unbearable.

Anger also had a tendency to follow the guilt. John knew why he had done what he did. It was true that they hadn’t talked everything out, which he supposed a normal person would have done. A normal person wouldn’t have done it in the first place but that was neither here nor there.

His phone buzzed again.

**Fine. See you in the morning. JW**

He was upset.

“John?”

Sherlock answered his inquiry with a frown at his mobile before replacing it in his jacket pocket.

“Guess so. What sent him racing off like that?”

Sherlock sipped his wine and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Me? But, why?”

“It is not you but something that you mentioned in our conversation.”

He could see Victor playing the conversation back in his head, just before John had fled from the flat.

“He didn’t know that I saw you while you were playing dead. How could he not know?”

“I didn’t tell him so he would have no way of obtaining the information. The only other person that knows more details about that time is Mycroft and he and John-”

“Aren’t the best of friends? That’s not surprising. Mycroft always was a nosy ass.”

Sherlock snorted. Victor, like John, had never been intimidated by Mycroft much to his older brother’s eternal frustration.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

Sherlock took a larger drink from his wine glass, emptying it. “It upsets him.”

Victor looked at him incredulously. “So you’ve never even had a discussion or a conversation about what you were doing? He has no idea?” Victor had only seen a very small part of the mission that Sherlock had embarked upon and he could see the danger that existed at all times. “Will? That’s-”

“None of your business.”

“I was going to say insane and possibly the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, but go with that if you’d like.”

“Sad? Why is it _sad_?” The sneer was back. “He doesn’t want to hear about it and I don’t want to subject him to such unpleasantness. We have an accord.”

“An accord. You have an accord. Oh my god, Will.” Victor couldn’t help the shocked laugh. When they had been together, he knew that this man was one of the most emotionally repressed people that he had ever met and evidently still was. He had only started to finally loosen up towards the end of their relationship but this was really unbelievable. “You told me, someone that you hadn’t even spoken to for years, why you jumped off that fucking building but you couldn’t tell the man that you actually did it for?”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed. He was seconds from just storming away from the table when he caught the look in Victor’s eye. Pity. Intolerable. He sighed in resignation. “I did tell him why. You don’t have the entire story. There were, complications, when I returned.”

“You mean his marriage?” Sherlock looked at him in surprise. “I told you I still follow his blog. And yours, you idiot. He’s divorced now, right? So what’s the problem?”

“The reason for his divorce.”

“Did you and he…”

Sherlock huffed in irritation. “NO. How many times do I have to tell you that we have never been like that and never will. He doesn’t think of me like that.”

“Interesting.”

“What?” Sherlock peered at him and then realized what he had said. “Shut up.” He probably shouldn’t be drinking the wine. While he had a high tolerance for narcotics, he would be considered a lightweight when it came to alcohol. He needed to be more careful so that Victor didn’t get it in his mind to help or some such nonsense.

“Will.” Victor laid a hand on Sherlock’s forearm. The warm touch was not intolerable but the sympathy in his eyes was. Sherlock didn’t jerk back as was his first instinct and instead took another sip of wine, refusing to meet Victor’s gaze. “Tell me right now and I promise I will drop this. Do you have feelings for John Watson?”

Sherlock couldn’t look at him. No one had ever asked him that directly. Mycroft had oozed his way around what he thought was accurate but he had never been forthrightly questioned on the subject. “I do care for him, he is a kind and loyal friend, but anything beyond that would be a fruitless endeavor.”

Victor sat back, drinking from his own glass. “That’s not a no.” Sherlock gave him a sharp look and he raised his hand in acquiescence. “I promised. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” For now, Victor thought. John Watson would have to be discussed, but that could wait.

“So, would you like to hear more about the case?”

\--

John waited up even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. No matter what it looked like, he wasn’t Sherlock’s keeper. He was a grown man who could make his own decisions. If he wanted to have dinner with an old friend, _an old lover_ his traitorous mind kept insisting, then that was his choice.

The timing was unfortunate. He had headed back to the flat with a determination to get everything out in the open and hope that Sherlock didn’t ask him to move out or sneer at him in disdain for his banal human feelings. He hoped that the sneering would be kept to a minimum and that things would be awkward for a while and that would be that.

He and Sherlock would continue as they had been. Friends. Flatmates. Colleagues.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He was planning on confessing his feelings to his best friend like one of those idiot rom coms. This was stupid. So sodding stupid. What was he even thinking? He rose from his chair to make yet another cup of tea. It wasn’t helping.

What if Sherlock didn’t come home tonight? That thought stopped him in his tracks, hand hovering over the handle of the kettle. What if, after all this time, he had waited too long? What if this tan, fit man from his past with the bright smile recaptured the attention that he had attained all those years ago. Sherlock had definitely spoken of him with a sort of fondness and they had certainly seemed to be getting along when he had seen them together earlier.

What would he do? Confessing his undying love because someone else had caught Sherlock’s attention, how did that look? Like a sodding teenage girl. John flipped the switch on the kettle, shaking his head at himself. He was a grown man, for god’s sake! Who had survived Afghanistan, a murderous assassin wife and the loss of his best friend right in front of his face.

And now he was sitting here practically crying into his tea because the person he fancied was out with another bloke. Pathetic. He should just go to bed and deal with everything in the morning. Things always looked better after a good sleep.

He turned off the kettle and put his mug into the sink. He looked around the empty flat and tried not to think about what he needed to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...angst ahoy?

Chapter 6

Sherlock had to admit that even though his thoughts kept wandering back to what he would have to deal with in the morning, dinner with Victor had been nice. They discussed the case briefly and had caught up in general, as he supposed old friends did. Old friends didn’t solve embezzling problems over dinner, but that was nothing unusual in their case. All that remained was a quick look over the records and Sherlock was sure that it would be resolved satisfactorily.

It appeared that Victor’s return to London had not been a planned event. He and his partner Evan had had a falling out and parted ways. They had met shortly after Sherlock’s brief stop in Boston. This prompted Victor to come back to the place that he had considered his home for years. It made sense at the time to expand and that led to the London branch of his growing consulting business. He had been back for a few months but had been much too busy setting up the office and getting things running smoothly to make contact. Until the problem employee, that was.

Sherlock was not fooled by the convenience of this excuse. He knew very well that Victor would have been able to take care of the problem himself given some more time and the ruse had been rather transparent. He was surprised to find that he didn’t mind. Even though they had shared a hurtful past, Victor was still the kind and affable man that he had been drawn to all those years ago.

Dessert and coffee was, if not lingered over, savored. The conversation was still easy and Sherlock could feel a sense of contentment that he usually only felt while in John’s company. It was, nice. With the wine they had consumed and the rich food, he was actually looking forward to his bed, for the moment forgetting the turmoil that awaited him in the morning. He was actually just enjoying the moment for once. It was an odd feeling.

Victor insisted on paying and they had retrieved their coats and scarves in preparation to leave when Victor patted his pockets and realized that his phone was missing.

“I must have left it at your place. Do you mind if I share a cab to get it?”

Sherlock felt like he should say no, he was suddenly exhausted, but what harm could come of it?

“Of course.”

He hailed the cab this time and they rode back to Baker Street in companionable silence.

\--

John awoke from the light doze in which he had been hovering for the last hour. Despite his resolve to get a good night’s sleep, it would be impossible until Sherlock was home and safe. He just couldn’t help it.

Now that he was back at Baker Street it had become a bit of a habit to see that Sherlock was in fact alive and well with his own eyes before bed. He found that the impulse to check was too strong to resist at times. He didn’t think that Sherlock knew and for ‘normal’ flatmates, it might be considered a bit creepy.

But they had never pretended to be normal.

He listened, trying to identify what pulled him from his sleep this time when he heard movement in the sitting room. Sherlock was back home then.

He lay there for just long enough to convince himself that he didn’t actually need an excuse to be up and about in the middle of the night in his own home. He swung his legs over and sat up on the side of the bed, rubbing a weary hand over his face. With a final bone-cracking stretch he silently padded down the stairs to the door of the sitting room.

“Sher-“

He froze.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, _John’s chair_ , and Victor was straddling him, snogging him heartily. Victor looked up and their eyes met. Victor pulled away from Sherlock with a jerk, looking horrified.

\--

The cab had arrived at 221B and the two men made their way through the dark foyer and up the stairs with a care not to wake Mrs. Hudson. Another thing that the Sherlock from before would not have even considered. Sherlock glanced up the stairs to John’s room for the same reason.

He scanned the sitting room and spied Victor’s mobile under a paper on John’s side table. He plucked it from the surface and turned to offer it to Victor. He looked at it but didn’t take it from Sherlock’s hand. Not just yet. Sherlock turned toward him, brow furrowed in confusion.

Victor reached a hand up cradling Sherlock’s cheek and he allowed it, made slow by the wine or surprise.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I just have to-“

Victor pressed his lips to Sherlock’s.

Later, he would definitely blame the wine or the fact that it had been years since anyone had put their hands on him other than to heal for what happened next. He kissed Victor back, dropping the phone to the carpet with a thud.

The night had been full of comfortable conversation and companionship, and this was the thing that he craved to share with John. He had imagined it so many times.

He shivered as Victor’s tongue tentatively ran along his bottom lip. He opened his mouth, deepening the kiss and allowed Victor to walk him back towards John’s chair. He knees hit the edge and he fell back into it, Victor following him, knees on either side of his hips.

It felt so good. He ran his hands up Victor’s back when he heard a noise behind him and then John’s voice.

“Sher-”

Sherlock froze. What was he doing?

_No._

_No, no, no. This wasn’t happening._

Victor jerked away from him and Sherlock turned just in time to see John’s shocked face. The shock vanished and was replaced by something unreadable.

John ducked into the kitchen. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll just get out of your way. Just wanted a glass of water.”

“John?”

John wouldn’t make eye contact. Why wouldn’t he make eye contact?

“No worries, Sherlock. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Victor.”

The sound of the closing bedroom door was deafening.

\--

Victor pushed himself away and scrambled off Sherlock’s lap.

“Oh my god, Will. I am so sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

Sherlock was still not quite sure what had happened.

“You kissed me.”

“I am so sorry.”

“You said that.”

“It still applies!” Victor paced back and forth, running an unsteady hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why are you acting like that?”

Victor looked at him with a pained expression. “Will, why didn’t you just tell me? I never would have done that-”

“Tell you what?” This was getting out of hand. Had everyone in this flat lost their faculties? “Victor, what are you talking about?”

Victor knew that Sherlock in the past had been completely clueless when it came to most social cues, but he had assumed that he would pick up on at least some things as he had got older. Evidently, this was not the case. It was either that or Sherlock had finally turned into the cold, heartless sociopath that he had claimed to be. And that just wasn’t an acceptable option.

“Will.” He put his hands on his hips, head back in exasperation. “Will, you idiot. As brilliant and observant as you claim to be, you can be so blind. That man loves you.”

Sherlock blinked at him.

“Great, now I’ve broken him!” Victor threw his hands up in frustration. He watched as Sherlock slowly came back. “Are you back? Good. Listen to me carefully, you are wrong about whatever idea you have about John’s feelings for you.”

Sherlock finally got control of what was going on. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, Victor, it’s incorrect. It is true that John is very fond of me and values our friendship, but I can guarantee that that is the extent of his sentiment toward me.”

Victor stared at him. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I assure you that I am, at this moment, the only person in this flat that is behaving in a rational-“

“You didn’t see his face.” Victor looked at him as if willing Sherlock to understand. “Will, he was devastated.”

“I’m sure you are mistaken.”

“Will-”

“Stop calling me that!” The sudden outburst caught them both by surprise. Sherlock turned away, raising a hand to his lips that was suddenly trembling. He gripped it tightly into a fist. “Victor, I will be in touch with you about your problem employee as soon as I receive the reports that we discussed.”

“Will, sorry, Sherlock, I think we need to talk-”

“No.” Sherlock whirled around and drew himself up, tall and imposing. Completely shutting down.

Victor’s lips pressed into a tight line. He knew that look so well, even after not seeing it for so many years. He wouldn’t be able to talk anymore to him tonight.

“Fine. I’ll show myself out then?”

Sherlock waved a hand in dismissal and stalked off to his bedroom, still clad in coat and scarf. Victor flinched at the firm click of the door. It wasn’t a slam, but it was close.

He picked up his phone from where Sherlock had dropped it and with a final look at the closed door, made his way quietly down the stairs.

\--

John lay on his bed, not even bothering to get under the duvet. There was no need, because there was definitely not going to be any more sleep this night. He could hear voices downstairs in the sitting room but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He heard Sherlock say something sharply and then there was silence for several long moments. He heard Sherlock’s bedroom door close and then seconds later, the front door. Victor must have gone then.

He was still trying to process what he had walked in on. Following what Sherlock had shared with him, he knew that Sherlock had a history. This was a fact. After meeting Victor, it became even more solid and real. But nothing could have ever prepared him for the sight of Sherlock Holmes snogging anyone. The evidence was there, but it was unbelievable. Sherlock had always presented himself as above such things but the reality was there.

And now John had to contemplate a fear that he didn’t even know existed. What if Sherlock met someone, _or already had_ , his rebelling brain told him, and left him?

He knew they had both suffered from a bit of separation anxiety. It was only natural, given the events that had transpired over the last few years, but he had never experienced the cold paralyzing fear that was washing over him right this moment. He wanted to go downstairs and beg Sherlock not to go. He also wanted to pack a bag and run before he gave in to this impulse.

Where would he even go? He had just got settled and was content to be back home. But what if Sherlock wanted to get back together with Victor? He couldn't possibly compete. They had history and even he could admit that they looked good together. There was no way that he would be telling Sherlock anything like he had planned. Not now. Not after seeing that. Maybe if nothing happened of it. Maybe.

What would have happened if he hadn’t interrupted them? Would Sherlock have taken Victor to his bed? He felt sick at the thought and then immediately guilty. How many girlfriends had he paraded in front of Sherlock without a thought? Who was he to deny Sherlock the right to the same?

John shook his head and turned onto his side, careful to face away from the door. There was nothing more to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6, better known as "Sherlock is an idiot, John has a pity party and Victor is really a good guy".


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More idiocy abounds!
> 
> Sorry, I just couldn't help myself :)

Chapter 7

The morning was met with silence. Sherlock had risen early and left without a word. Like a coward, John waited until he was gone before emerging from the quiet of his own room.

He made his way to the kitchen and hated that his first thought was to text Sherlock and see where he had got off to. After the second time he picked up his mobile without thinking, he put it in the desk drawer just to get it out of his sight. This was not how he had imagined things going.

To think that he had been ready to say ‘I’ve been in love with you for years and I’d really like for us to spend the rest of our lives together, what do you think?’ to Sherlock. And Sherlock could have said ‘Sounds like a good plan, John, let’s do that.’

Or he could have said, ‘If this is distracting you from helping with the work, we will need to find other arrangements.’

Or, even worse, ‘I’m flattered by your interest, but I’m going to go shag my ex instead. Be back later.’

The last one seemed more and more likely. Had he been fooling himself this entire time? This romantic notion of growing old together. He could see the Sherlock in his imagination with silver in his hair, raising bees and still up to his mad experiments. But now, instead of himself, he saw Victor there. Or someone else. Where would that leave him?

He had made the conscious decision not to date, not to pursue any sort of romantic relationship since the Mary situation had been settled. Had that been a mistake? He thought he knew what they both wanted, though they had never said it out loud. They had just gone right back to living side by side, sharing this home and he thought that would be it. He was done.

And now that didn’t seem like it was an option any longer.

Maybe he should accept the offer of a dinner out with the pretty new morgue assistant that he had met the other day through Molly. He had chatted with her while waiting for Sherlock and she had given him her number ‘just in case’. Just to see. Just to give it a go. There was no use pining over something that he couldn’t have.

He got his mobile out of the drawer where it had been hiding and sent a text.

\--

Sherlock had been at Bart’s for most of the day. Molly had been extra annoyingly perky and kept grinning at him for some reason. He had no idea why and couldn’t care less. His brain was still running in circles over what had happened last night and Victor’s insistence that he had been wrong all along. It was preposterous. And what did Victor know anyway? He didn’t know who Sherlock was now and certainly didn’t know John.

After the third time that Molly had checked on him, he barely restrained the urge to snap at her to leave him the hell alone. He liked her better when she had been more fawning and less likely to speak to him. That wasn’t exactly true but it suited his foul mood.

“So, where’s John?”

Molly flinched when he slammed the palm of his hand against the table where he had been working. “For god’s sake, do you not have anywhere else to be?”

She looked at him with a critical eye, not intimidated by the rudeness in the least. “What is wrong with you?”

He turned back to the microscope, staring intently at nothing. “Nothing is wrong with me.”

“Liar.”

Why did she have to pick the most inopportune moments to become observant? He sighed. “It’s nothing, Molly.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“How juvenile,” he drawled. “I suppose you think you will get me to talk by spouting nursery rhymes at me until I submit?”

“No, but if you’ll stop being a prick, I’d be happy to listen. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

He barely stopped a quirk of his lips at this. He had no desire to encourage her overtures to get him to share. “I assure you, Molly, that I do not need to talk about anything.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, really? And that’s why you’re trying to ignore me by looking through that with no slide?”

Damn her. He sat back and gave her his full attention.

“So, what did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

“Because you only act this stroppy when you and John have had a row and most of your rows are because of something you did. It’s an assured statistical probability that you did something to piss John off.”

“It’s nothing like that.”

Molly hesitated, as if unsure she should say something.

“For god’s sake, what?”

“It’s just something that John and I were talking about the other day. It’s nothing.”

That was interesting. It wasn’t unusual for John and Molly to talk about him, he was a common thing that they shared, but Molly usually had no problem telling him John’s complaints. They usually were about kitchen cleanliness and begging Molly not to send him home with body parts, as if he needed her permission to acquire them.

“Talking about me behind my back, Molly. Shame on you.”

She gave him an exasperated face. “Like it’s the first time.”

“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t continue to look at me like that.”

She rolled her eyes and wished that she had kept her mouth shut. “It’s not my place to say anything.”

Even more interesting. Perhaps Molly had some much needed data to help him solve his current dilemma. “Molly, I think-“

“What was your row about?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “It wasn’t a row. It was more of a misunderstanding. Possibly.”

He wondered about this. John’s odd reaction and then Victor’s determination that Sherlock had missed everything didn’t add up. Did they?

“Was it about Victor?”

He blinked at her. How did she do that? Molly could be shockingly insightful at times, usually when he least wanted her to. “Ye-es? How did you-”

“John mentioned him. He also asked me some questions about while you were away.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. Damn Victor. It seemed that he was right, at least about one thing, and that particular conversation had been long overdue. “He overheard our conversation and reacted, rashly.”

“No, he did what John does when you don’t tell him things and he finds out on his own. He went for a walk to cool off before he punched you in the face. And don’t look at me like that, you’re not the only one who sees things.” She looked down at the tabletop. “I just wish you saw as much as you think you do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” He was quite sure that he was quickly losing the upper hand here and he didn’t relish the feeling.

“Nothing. Like I said, not my place.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Go home. Work it out. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. She nodded and walked off to continue her work. He quietly put away the tools that he had taken out and, gathering his coat, left the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To sum up: John's pity party continues, Sherlock is starting to get a clue and Molly is kind of awesome.
> 
> Coming soon - more Victor!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there, just a little bit longer....

Chapter 8

Sherlock didn’t go home right away. He needed to think. Usually he enjoyed a good puzzle, but this was not enjoyable in the least. For once, he wanted someone to just tell him what was going on. A straightforward answer would be a relief at this point.

He didn’t understand Victor’s impulse to kiss him last night. Well, he could understand the impulse; they had a shared history and had enjoyed spending time together. It had been easy and comfortable. But he didn’t understand the motivation. Surely Victor knew that he had no interest in revisiting any sort of relationship, physical or otherwise, with him. Didn’t he? He did now, that was no longer a question.

Or did he? Other than the kiss incident, last night had been enjoyable. Could they be friends? Sherlock huffed in annoyance at himself. He was getting distracted.

And now back around to John. He had looked surprised when Sherlock had turned to look at him but that was all. It certainly didn’t elicit the kind of response to whatever Victor had thought that he saw on his face. But Victor didn’t know John, hadn’t catalogued his every expression. This morning John had been awake but had avoided coming downstairs until after Sherlock left. Why? Was he embarrassed to see that sort of intimate moment? Or was it because he thought that Sherlock was such a machine that he would never succumb to such physicality? Sherlock had curated this persona and he couldn’t hold that assumption against him.

He walked until the sun started to set before returning to Baker Street. No matter how distasteful, he decided that he was just going to have to be straightforward and ask John what the matter was. It was the only way to be sure.

—

John was in the loo when Sherlock arrived. This was good. He wouldn’t be able to go to his room without Sherlock hearing and he would be able to put all of this behind them. Sherlock heard him come into the sitting room and turning to look at him was surprised to see that he was dressed in what could only be observed as ‘going out’ clothes. He looked nice. Why did he look nice?

“John, there you are. I think we need-“

“Sorry, Sherlock. I’m running late. Unless it’s something important, can it wait?”

Sherlock halted in his tracks. “John, surely Godfrey wouldn’t mind waiting-“

John cut him off again. “I’m not meeting Greg, Sherlock.”

“Then where are you going?”

John wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve got a date.”

“A date?” Sherlock felt his stomach drop. This was what he had been dreading, the beginning of the end. Again. John would leave him. He must have been standing there silently for too long because he realized that John was looking at him with concern.

“Are you alright?”

Sherlock blinked and then took a deep breath. “Yes, yes, of course. Enjoy your evening. I’ll just-“ He walked into the kitchen and started fiddling with the first piece of glassware he laid his hands on. “Experiment.” He said this to the tabletop.

John looked at him for a few more moments. He had expected some sort of reaction, but this was disheartening. He didn’t even care. But why should he? He would probably text him during the middle of the meal and try to ruin the date like he always had before.

“I’ll see you later. Eat something, please.”

Sherlock nodded and listened to John’s footsteps as he clattered down the stairs. He put down the test tube and moved over to his chair, practically falling into it. He slid sideways and curled his legs up into it, resting his head on the armrest, looking at John’s chair where it sat in its usual place.

It seemed like he would have an unimpeded view to the kitchen once again.

—

Her name was Gwen. She was dark-haired, petite and lovely. And unbelievingly boring. Oh, she was intelligent and funny and could carry on a fine conversation, but she just wasn’t…enough. Who was he kidding? She just wasn’t Sherlock. He eyed his mobile where it sat on the table face up, waiting for the inevitable text that would warrant his apologies and hasty retreat. He was looking forward to it actually, as he tried to follow the story that she was telling about something funny that had happened while she was at the market.

The text never came.

\--

Sherlock heard his mobile ping. He shuffled it out of his jacket pocket and looked at it despondently. It was Victor. Wonderful.

**Everything okay over there? VT**

**No. SH**

**Did you actually talk to John or are you still residing in your perpetual state of denial? VT**

**John is on a date. SH**

**I’ll be right over. VT**

Sherlock let the device slide from his fingers and it hit the rug with a dull thump. He didn’t know why he had told Victor anything. Now Victor would come over with his eyes full of pity for poor Sherlock who was an emotional idiot and had to have everything explained to him like a child.

He couldn’t even bring himself to care.

—

Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson let Victor in after ignoring the buzzer. John had made him put it back after he had moved back in but he couldn’t make him answer it. Especially since he wouldn’t be living there much longer. It was only a matter of time before he repacked the boxes.

He could hear her twittering at Victor and hoped that she would restrain herself from coming up and checking on him. He didn’t think he could bear her mothering at the moment and did not wish to say something regretful. He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the leather.

—

Victor succeeded in forestalling Mrs. Hudson and promised that he would let her know when they were ready for some tea. She had been enamored of the idea of an old uni friend of Sherlock’s and he could tell that she cared about Sherlock very much. He also knew that right now was not the time for her to visit her favorite tenant. It would end badly for everyone involved.

He walked up the stairs and took in the view, shaking his head. Some things never changed. For a tall man, Sherlock Holmes could contort himself in the most ridiculous fashion, especially when he was feeling particularly vulnerable. The sight of his old friend curled up dejectedly in his chair was heartwrenching. The stupidly, brilliant man. Victor took off his coat, threw it over the opposite chair, and crouched down in front of Sherlock placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

Sherlock flinched at the touch and opened his eyes, seeing the dreaded sympathy in Victor’s face. “I don’t know why you’re even here.” He closed his eyes again and snapped them open when Victor smacked him on the back of the head. “Ow.”

“Oh get up. I’m not talking to you while you’re sulking.” Victor stood up and put his hands on his hips. Sherlock glared at him. “And don’t give me that look. I had a hand, through no fault of my own, in this and I’m going to help you fix it.” Sherlock glared at him harder. Victor rolled his eyes and without preamble grabbed Sherlock by the arm and tugged him upright, prompting an inelegant squawk. “There.” He sat in John’s chair and eyed the ruffled and still glaring Sherlock. “What happened after I left?”

Sherlock tugged his jacket back into place and took his time before answering. “John stayed in his room, I went to mine. I went to run some errands this morning before he came down and when I got back this evening he was leaving to go on a date.” He gritted his teeth. “He told me he would be back later.”

Victor looked at him. “And that’s all?”

Sherlock nodded, picking a piece of lint off the leg of his trousers.

“Has he gone on dates before? I mean, since the divorce?”

“No.”

“And how long has that been?”

“About six months. Do make your point.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “That’s not a long time, how actively did he date before?”

“He was constantly going out with insipid women, I lost count.”

“All women? No men?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Okay, okay. Is he even interested in-“

“He has admitted as much in an inebriated state. It was in the past but it was there.”

Victor smiled brightly. “Well, okay, what’s the problem then?”

Sherlock was getting very tired of this line of talk. “The problem, as you say, is that while John has admitted an interest in men as a sexual partner, he has never extended that interest toward myself. He is not a shy man.”

“Neither are you, if I recall correctly.” Sherlock flushed and that just made Victor grin at him more. “What’s the worst that could happen if you just snogged him after a case one evening?”

Sherlock gaped at him. “The worst that could happen would be that John would leave. And don’t say snogged, you’re American. It’s unseemly.”

“Misdirection doesn’t work with me and you know it.” Victor looked at him seriously. “Sherlock, this man has stuck with you through some really, really shitty times. Do you honestly think that he would up and leave on account of a simple kiss?”

“It wouldn’t be simple to me.” Sherlock immediately wished that he could take the words back. He looked away, refusing to meet Victor’s gaze.

“I know,” Victor said softly. “And I’m telling you that it would be worth it to take the chance. Because I’ve known him for about five minutes and even I can tell that he would do anything for you.”

“I don’t know how to do this. I am not good at such things, you know this.”

Victor laughed quietly. “Do I ever. Just be you. Scratch that. That’s a terrible idea. Just be honest. You owe that to him.” He put a hand on Sherlock’s arm. “And he owes it to you to listen.”

Victor stood and tugged Sherlock to his feet, embracing him briefly. Sherlock stiffened at first and then relaxed and hugged him back. Victor drew back and got his coat, pulling it on. “Are you going to be okay here or do I need to write you a script?” Sherlock looked dangerously close to flinging something at him. “Fine, fine. I’m leaving.”

Standing in the doorway, Victor held Sherlock’s gaze. “Just do it. It will all work out, I promise.”

“Aren’t you meant to be having tea with Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock turned and became interested in something on the mantle.

“Yes, I am. I’m actually looking forward to it, she was so interested in what ‘her Sherlock’ was like at uni.” Victor ran for the stairs before Sherlock could make a move.

Sherlock would be paying for that one for a while. He looked around the empty room and decided that if he was going to have to have a difficult conversation, he might as well be dressed comfortably. His pajamas and dressing gown were waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Victor :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Let's all say it together, one, two, three "FINALLY!"
> 
> Sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it.

Chapter 9

John had never been more relieved to end a meal. His mobile sat silently on the table, mocking him. He had no idea why he had ever thought this was a good idea. The conversation had been mildly interesting but it was just wrong, all wrong. And the fact that she looked at him funny any time he mentioned Sherlock was the clincher. She worked at the morgue and had some interaction with him, but she almost looked offended any time he was brought up. That was still the usual, then.

They had said their goodbyes on the pavement in front of the restaurant, just a kiss on her cheek before she went in the opposite direction. He didn’t even make the empty promise of “We should do this again some time,” because they both knew that they wouldn’t.

He decided to walk home. It was just far enough that he would have normally taken a taxi but he needed the time to think.

—

Sherlock, outwardly calm but full of turmoil inside, paced through the sitting room with a loop around to check the window for John’s arrival every other turn. He ignored Mrs. Hudson when she had come up after her visit with Victor until she had thrown her hands up and left him to his own devices.

Why wasn’t he home yet?

It was a first date, wasn’t it? Surely Sherlock would have noticed if John had done this before. Of course he would have, all current evidence to the contrary, he was a very observant person. A first date, if his memory served and typical social conventions were followed, should only be dinner out. This meant two hours if it was a good date, three on the outside if it was very good.

John had been gone for four hours.

What did that mean? Was John so desperate for companionship that he would follow home any figure that turned his head? Sherlock squashed that line of thought quickly. It served no purpose and was rather insulting to John’s person.

The next loop around the sitting room took him past the window again, where he paused to peer out at the street. To his relief and subsequent terror right on its heels, he saw John turn the corner and head towards their door. He jerked his head back before he could be seen and glanced around the room for the optimal place in which to await John’s return.

He finally decided that a seat at the desk, laptop open in front of him, would work. It was open for conversation and most definitely did not look as though he had been pacing the floor like a madman for the past few hours. It was perfect.

It would have been absolutely perfect if John had not bypassed the sitting room entirely and made a beeline for his room. Sherlock sat up from his carefully casual pose and blinked toward the sitting room door. The door that John should have walked through seconds ago. This was impossible. He stood and flicked through several different scenarios, ranging from storming up to John’s room and simply shouting for him to come down.

He was still prevaricating when he heard steps on the stairs. He made a dive for the desk chair, but only succeeded in turning it over with a loud bang. John raced into the sitting room at the noise only to find a startled Sherlock standing in the middle of the room.

“Are you alright?”

Sherlock reached down and righted the chair, carefully sitting down. He took a deep breath and looked over at John, ready to speak…and he couldn’t. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would adequately convey everything to its fullest.

“Sherlock?”

What had Victor said? Be honest.

“Don’t leave.”

John looked startled. “What? I told you I would be back-“

“Don’t leave,” Sherlock took a deep breath. “Me.”

“I don’t know what you mean-“

Sherlock knew that he was messing this up. He was rubbish at this, why couldn’t he be concise and clear? He stood and took a few steps toward John, who was still looking at him in confusion.

“From past events, it is inevitable that you will eventually seek companionship, which will lead to you moving out again and I am asking that you,” he hesitated, “...don’t.”

From John’s face, this was not exactly the correct thing to say. He barked out a tense laugh. “You don’t want me, how did you put it, to seek companionship, just so I don’t move out again? Just when I think I’ve heard it all-“

“No!” Sherlock frantically tried to backtrack his words, reaching for the right thing to say. This was not going at all the way it should. “Please, hear me out, I am not good at...this.”

It was John’s turn to blink at him. What was he going on about? “I think I need to sit down for whatever this is.” He toed off his shoes and took a seat on the sofa, waiting for Sherlock to continue.

“Yes, that’s good. Good.” The normally eloquent man was fumbling his words and fidgeting with the belt to his dressing gown.

“Sherlock,” John had a horrible thought, “did you take something?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

“You’re acting very-“

“Oh sod this!” Sherlock crossed the room, stepped over the coffee table and loomed directly over John. John looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise. Sherlock leaned down, bracing one hand on the back of the sofa and pressed his lips to John’s.

As far as kisses went, it was chaste and lacking fireworks. But the moment that John’s mouth softened under his, Sherlock felt his knees buckle in relief. He pulled back after just a few moments to look at John and make sure that he didn’t find rejection there.

He didn’t see rejection, he saw a mix of disbelief, shock and a tiny bit of hope. “Do you see?”

John huffed out a laugh. “I’m still confused. But I’m not really sure I care right now.” He reached up and tugged on Sherlock’s shoulder until he sat down beside him. He drew up his leg so that he could face Sherlock directly. “Why don’t you try that talking thing again, yeah?”

Sherlock hesitated. He still wasn’t quite sure how to articulate what he wanted to say and he probably would have sat there rummaging through different approaches if John hadn’t reached over and touched him. He stilled, looking down at their joined hands.

“I don’t want you to meet someone. I don’t want you to date. I don’t want you to ever leave Baker Street again until we leave it together in retirement or because a case goes wrong.” Sherlock looked at him as if pleading for him to understand, gripping his hand tightly.

“O-kay?” John was still eyeing him with a mixture of confusion and fondness, as if he wasn’t sure if Sherlock were fully in control of his faculties. “Where is this coming from?”

“You went on a date.”

“I did. Technically speaking, so did you.”

“No I didn’t. When did I?”

“Last night, with Victor?”

“That wasn’t a date!” Sherlock stopped. “Oh. I see. You thought it was a date?”

John took his hand back. Sherlock restrained himself from snatching it back. “It certainly looked like it ended like one.”

“No. That was an error in judgement on Victor’s part.” John raised an eyebrow at him, “And mine. In fact, it was Victor that drew my attention to things that I may possibly have overlooked.”

“Did he now?”

“He says,” Sherlock looked up into John’s face, not wanting to miss any subtle reaction. “He says, that you- that you love me.”

John sucked in a breath. That wasn’t what he expected to hear.

“John?”

"Sherlock, I-"

Sherlock looked stricken. “He was wrong, wasn’t he? It’s fine. Just delete it.” John grabbed his elbow as he started to bolt off of the sofa.

“No. Sherlock, no, he wasn’t wrong.” 

Sherlock sat back down, relieved. He started to lean forward to kiss John again but was stopped by a gentle hand on his chest. He pulled back in confusion.

“Wait. Just hear me out, alright?” Sherlock nodded, but John could tell that he was apprehensive about whatever would follow. John took his hand again, running a thumb over his knuckles until he could feel him start to relax.

“Sherlock, we don’t talk about anything, really important, I mean. There’s things that we should have said after you came back that we didn’t and I’m not blaming you for that.” He gave a small smile. “Well, not only you.” He reached up and brushed a curl away from Sherlock’s forehead and couldn’t help but smile at the way he leaned into the touch. “But now, if this is something we both want, we need to do it right.” He brought Sherlock’s hand up to his lips and kissed his knuckles, noticing the shiver that it caused. “What do you think?”

Sherlock was visibly stuck, terrified of saying the wrong thing and silencing himself in the process. He started and stopped himself several times, and just looked at John, helplessly.

“Just say the first thing that comes to your mind.”

“I was captured twice.”

John blinked at him. This was a conversation they needed to have, but he hadn’t expected it now.

“I have scars, and- and nightmares. I don’t sleep most nights even though you think I do, because I know you check on me. I check on you, too, just to make sure you’re really here.” Sherlock looked at him defiantly, daring him to say something about that, but John stayed silent to let him talk. “I may have had a harder time than I let on with the drugs-” he waved a hand vaguely, “-thing for the Magnussen case. I won’t ever do that again, I promise.” He took a deep breath. “I hated planning your wedding. I hated every minute of it because it was taking you away from me. But I did it for you. I will always be there for you, that vow will never change.” He hesitated, gathering his thoughts. “I meant what I said. Be here with me, John. I am fairly certain that I love you desperately and-”

Whatever else he was going to add was lost to the air because John surged forward, wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him. Sherlock was surprised for just a moment before responding, both hands in John’s hair, just the way that he had always imagined. The kiss deepened and then slowed, unhurried and sweet. Then, John pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against Sherlock’s.

“I love you too, you berk.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earning the E rating. Just a bit.

Chapter 10

They sat for a few moments longer, reeling with the enormity of the entire situation. They had both woken up that morning convinced that this was something that was lost to them or would be forever just beyond their grasp. The relief to be proven wrong was at once joyous and exhilarating. And Sherlock, never one to pause once the course had been set, was ready to dive right in.

This resulted in both of them stretched out on the sofa, essentially making out like teenagers. Sherlock had settled himself on top of John and was throughly enjoying a lazy snog when John brought up the talking thing again.

“We need to have a conversation like adults.” Once John had made up his mind about something he could be infuriatingly persistent. Sherlock sighed and started to sit up but John pulled him down so that his head was snug against his shoulder. Sherlock relaxed into him immediately, forgetting his apprehension regarding what they needed to discuss.

John cleared his throat. “I can’t- hmm, I don’t know what to say right now.”

“You’re the one that wanted to _talk_.” Sherlock was going for petulant but the effect was dampened by his muffled voice. He moved in closer, pressing his face into John’s neck.

John huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I know. I meant what I said, though. We don’t, we don’t ever talk about anything really important. Haven’t since I moved back. Hell, even before that.” He leaned his cheek against the top of Sherlock’s head. “I should never have got married.”

He felt Sherlock tense up beside him and ran a soothing hand down his back. “I’m not- I’m not blaming you, well not really, for that. It was my choice. I will say that it was a choice that I would not have had to make if you had not-” He swallowed and Sherlock could feel the hitch in his breath, “-gone away.”

“I am sorry, John. I don’t know what else I am meant to do to express how very sorry I am. It was a mistake to go on my own. It was not a game or a puzzle. It was hard and lonely and I did things that I didn’t think myself capable.” Sherlock grew silent for a moment. “Do you think we would have got here eventually?”

John kissed him on the temple and smoothed back his hair. “I think so. It might have been sooner if you hadn’t had to go away but then again we might have danced around each just as long.” He laughed. “I should send Victor a thank you card.”

“He would find that very amusing.” Sherlock’s voice was muffled again as he turned his face into John’s neck, placing small kisses there.

John was suddenly quiet. “Do you, would you want to see him again? I mean, you seemed to get on really well and you did see him while you were away and-”

“ _John_.” Sherlock pulled back from his ministrations so that he could look him in the eye. “Any romantic feelings I held for Victor are in the past. While I do find him surprisingly pleasant to converse with, I have no desire to rekindle our relationship.” He pressed his forehead to John’s. “I just want you.”

John nodded and let out a breath. “That’s, that’s good.”

Sherlock kissed the skin just in front of John’s ear. “It’s late and I would very much like to take you to bed,” he murmured.

John’s eyes widened. “Really? I wasn’t sure if you…”

“John, when I said that I want you, I did mean in all possible ways.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Unless you have reservations of which I’m not aware.”

John shook his head and bit back a groan as Sherlock placed a more aggressive sucking wet kiss to his neck. “Yeah. I’m just fine with it.”

He was surprised when Sherlock immediately levered himself up from the sofa and held out his hand. “My room.” When John stared and didn’t take his hand, he rolled his eyes and waggled his fingers. John allowed himself to be helped up and Sherlock, in the lead as always, led him to his bedroom and shut the door, firmly locking it.

John hadn’t felt this nervous since Sixth Form. He stood nervously next to the bed as Sherlock turned back to him. “Are you alright?”

That was such an odd contradiction. That thought helped snap him out of the apprehension he was feeling. This was Sherlock. And that was amazing and the one thing that he thought he would never have. It would be just fine.

“Yeah. I really am.”

Sherlock reached out and John allowed himself to be pulled in closer, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist. He leaned in close and gave himself a moment to just listen to how Sherlock’s pounding heart matched his own. “I’m glad we’re here.”

“Don’t you think it’s time?” Sherlock put a hand under his chin, tipping John’s face up, searching. “I’m tired of waiting, aren’t you?”

“God, yes.” John slid his hands up Sherlock’s back and they met halfway in a very different kind of kiss. This one was full of heat, all teeth and tongues. Sherlock walked them back toward the bed until John’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. They broke apart just long enough for jumper and dressing gown to hit the floor.

And then Sherlock was pressing him into the bed. It had been a long time since John had been with a man and he had forgotten how good it felt to be beneath someone with a larger frame. It felt grounding and fantastic. And _good god_ was Sherlock good at this kissing thing.

John grasped the hem of t-shirt that Sherlock wore and pulled it over his head. Sherlock made a muffled sound against his mouth and then pulled off with a gasp when John ran his hands over his bare skin. “John, I-”

He knew that John couldn’t help but notice the raised lines of scar tissue that marred his back. He started to sit up when John pulled him back down. “No. Just, later, alright?”

Sherlock looked more vulnerable than John could ever remember seeing him. “Alright,” he echoed and leaned down to capture John’s lips again. “You are wearing too many clothes,” he murmured, eliciting a grin.

“Are you going to do something about that?” John raised up on his elbows as Sherlock leaned back with a slim thigh on either side of John’s hips. Long fingers unfastened buttons and Sherlock helped John shrug out of his shirt.

He plucked at the white vest still covering John’s chest and complained, “So many layers. What is the point?”

“Not everyone can ignore the cold like you.” John sat up a bit to pull the offending layer off and throw it to the floor. “There, happy?”

Sherlock smiled and ran a finger across a collarbone and down to circle a nipple. “Very.” He slid down so that he was once again lying on top of John. They both drew in a sharp breath as bare skin touched for the first time.

Sherlock remembered this. It had been years, but he remembered the sheer want of another person’s hands on his body. But it had never felt like this with Victor. This was something new. He loved John and had for so long that he poured that pent-up want and need into every kiss, every touch. His hips rebelled and thrust against John’s, their cocks grinding through layers of cotton and denim. This was going to be over very quickly and if he didn’t do something now, he was going to come in his pants.

“John, wait.”

He pulled away, panting and trying to gain some semblance of control of his body. He pressed his face into John’s neck so that he didn’t get the wrong idea, “Just give me a moment or this will be over far too quickly.”

John held him close and waited for his breathing to calm before he spoke. “What do you want?”

“At this point, anything, everything, I don’t know-” Sherlock was startled when John took the opportunity to roll them over, drawing himself up on all fours until he was caging Sherlock’s body in with his limbs. He reached down and slid two fingers under the waistband of Sherlock’s pajama bottoms, tugging on them.

“Let’s get these off and see where we go from there.” Sherlock nodded, throwing an arm over his eyes. John sat back and tugged them down, pants and all, until Sherlock lay naked beneath him. He ran an appreciative eye over what he could see, bypassing scars that he knew were from Sherlock’s time ‘away’ and leaned forward to place a kiss on the scar that had almost taken him away from him for good. Again.

Sherlock shivered from the contact and moved his arm so that he could look at John. He could see the sadness that was still there, after all this time, and decided right then and there that he would do his best to never cause John to look that way ever again. He reached for John’s trousers and unfastened them, pushing them down as far as he could. “Take those off and come here.”

John complied, pulling off the rest, and settled back on top of Sherlock who pulled him down into another searing kiss. John lined up their erections and thrust, pulling a rumbled moan out of Sherlock. He did it again. Sherlock ran his hands down John’s back to place both large hands on his arse, pulling them closer together. This was going to be quick. He could tell that Sherlock was getting close, so he drew back and licked the palm of his hand, reaching between them to get his hand around both of their cocks.

Sherlock jerked at the touch and dug his fingers into the curve of John’s arse to the point it was almost painful. “Oh god...John…” he breathed, eyes widening. It was all John could do to keep working them both, pressing their cocks together as Sherlock wrapped his legs around his thighs, desperate to get as much contact as possible.

John got his hips into the motion and that was all it took. Sherlock came with a wordless cry, his body jerking as John worked him through his orgasm. It was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. Sherlock collapsed, boneless, his limbs sluggish. John let go of Sherlock’s softening cock and slowly stroked himself even though it was taking all of his willpower not to just jerk himself off as quickly as he could.

He was glad that he had waited because a few seconds later, Sherlock pushed himself up on his elbow and covered John’s hand with his own, mimicking his own movements. He sat up further, pushing John back on his heels so that he could plunder his mouth while working his cock with short quick strokes. John clung to Sherlock’s shoulders with both hands, sure that he was about to have a heart attack because this was the hottest thing that a partner had done for him in years. Mostly because it was Sherlock, and partially because it was absolutely perfect. He had long wondered, when he had allowed himself to wonder, what the world’s most observant man would be like as a lover and now he knew.

With a twist of his wrist on every upstroke, Sherlock wrung John’s orgasm out of him, leaving him hoping that Mrs. Hudson was sound asleep and didn’t think someone was being murdered upstairs. They both collapsed on the bed in a tangle. John lay there catching his breath before taking Sherlock’s hand in his own and squeezing it gently.

“Years, you said? Didn’t seem like it.” John grinned at the ceiling before rolling his head over to take in Sherlock’s flushed face and wild curls.

“Yes, years John. I told you that I wasn’t inexperienced.” Sherlock smiled his shy half smile. “We were twenty. Trust me we got in plenty of practice."

"Right. Shutting up now."

"Was there anyone else besides Victor?"

"No." Sherlock shook his head. "Is this the best time to have this conversation?"

"Probably not, but when have we ever done anything in the proper order? Besides, it not like I can tell from how you pull up your socks like you can."

"That's not-"

"You know what I mean."

Sherlock glanced at him then looked back at the ceiling. "Twenty-three. No wait. Twenty-four."

John's eyes widened. "How could you possibly- You know what? Never mind. I don't want to know."

Sherlock looked at him, worried now that he had misstepped. "I-"

John smiled at him. "It's fine."

He patted Sherlock’s hand where it lay on the bed and got up to fetch a flannel from the bathroom. John padded back into the room, scrubbing at his own belly when he looked up to see Sherlock watching him from where he lay on the bed. If John had to guess, that look was one of nervousness and a bit of apprehension. “Alright?”

Sherlock nodded but then looked back up at the ceiling. It was John’s turn to roll his eyes as he climbed back onto the bed. Sherlock jumped as John started to clean him off, as if he didn’t expect it. John finished cleaning him up and tossed the flannel to the floor and started tugging the duvet out from under Sherlock.

“What happens now?” Sherlock moved enough so that John could wrestle the duvet down enough to slide underneath. “John, I-”

“Come here, you great git.” John lay on his side with his arm raised in invitation for Sherlock to slide under it. It felt incredibly odd and so very right at the same time to spoon someone taller than him. “What happens?” He placed a kiss to the nape of Sherlock’s neck. “Well now, we get some sleep. It’s late and I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered.”

Sherlock let out a huff. “That’s not what I meant.”

John snaked his arm around him and pressed his palm to his chest, just over his heart. He held him close until he could feel Sherlock relax against him. “I love you,” he whispered into Sherlock’s back just loud enough for him to hear. “That’s what happens.”

Sherlock turned over to face him. “Stay.”

John looked at him carefully. “Alright.”

Sherlock shook his head, frustrated at his lack of words to properly express himself. “No. Not just right now, here in this bed. I want… I mean…” he huffed out a breath. “Just, stay.”

“Alright.” John’s quiet answer released the doubt that Sherlock had been carrying for days. The weight of it was suddenly gone and he felt lighter and couldn’t help the grin that spread its way across his face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end lovelies, but a bit more smut before I send you on your way!

Chapter 11

John woke up first, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings, not to mention the warm weight of Sherlock’s arm across his chest. He couldn’t help the broad grin that spread across his face as he basked in the moment.  That first morning, waking up with a new lover. He hadn’t felt this way with Mary or anyone else. It was amazing.

“Are you always this unbearably smug in the morning?”

John turned at the sound of Sherlock’s sleep-roughened voice to see a pale eye peeking out beneath wild curls. His grin got even bigger, if possible. “Only when I wake up with you.” Sherlock snorted what was undeniably a laugh into the pillow.

John stroked his cheek with the back of his hand, still grinning. Sherlock raised his head and gave him a small smile before shuffling closer to kiss him. He was warm and sleep-rumpled, with pillowcase creases on his face, and John was quite certain that he had never seen anything so lovely in his life.

“Hello there.”

“John.”

Sherlock kissed him again, harder this time. He slid over so that he was mostly lying on top, their legs intertwined. John was soft and pliant under him and he thought he would never get enough of this. He would gladly become addicted to the feel of those hands on his body, the sound of his even breathing beside him every night. Then John's fingers traced over one of the raised scars on his back and Sherlock froze. He knew he was eventually going to have to face this and share it with John.

“You know you don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready, right?” John slid a hand up the back of Sherlock’s neck to bury his fingers in dark curls. Sherlock nodded and leaned down to kiss him. He drew back after a moment and put his head on John’s chest, enjoying the feel of a warm hand stroking his back.

“I do want to tell you, but-”

“You think I’ll react poorly or think less of you or something. Oh, love.” John kissed the top of his head. “Tell me in your own time, but know this.” He tipped Sherlock’s face up with a finger under his chin, “I know you. I know that whatever happened, whatever you did, you did for a reason. And that’s all I need to know. All the rest is just details and that is up to you.”

Sherlock stared at him, looking for the truth in John’s words, and he was not disappointed. John believed in him. John _loved_ him. Had always loved him and was going to _stay_. He was a bit surprised at the lump in his throat and his voice came out a bit shaky. “I love you, you know.” John tightened the arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the forehead.

“I know you do.”

Sherlock couldn’t stand it anymore, he had to touch, had to feel. He kissed John again, softly, but it soon became more heated and insistent. He moved so that he was fully pressing John into the softness of the bed, and was gratified to feel an erection matching his own. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.

He pulled away from the kiss and, giving John a grin, slid down his body, keeping eye contact the entire time. John sucked in a breath as he realized what Sherlock’s intent was, his heart already starting to race.

“You don’t have to-” He started. _Oh, god_.

The hot wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth engulfed his cock and he couldn’t form words any longer. Sherlock started slowly, dragging his tongue up the shaft and circling the head before dipping down to meet where he hand was holding John steady. His left hand was splayed on John’s hip to help control the thrusts that he was trying so hard to hold back.

John gripped the sheets in both hands, desperate not to come immediately. He was holding on until Sherlock reached up with his left hand and reached for John’s right, placing it on his head. He pulled off for a split second. “My hair, pull my hair.” John obliged, digging his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and tugging lightly, not wanting to hurt him.

Sherlock moaned around John’s cock at the first pull and took him in even deeper. He moved his spit slick hand away from the base and reached beneath himself, rising up on his knees just a bit to reach his own erection. He groaned as he touched his cock, his own saliva easing the way as he stroked.

John watched him with wide eyes and the realization that Sherlock was this turned on sucking his cock caused him to give the curls entwined in his fingers a rough pull. Sherlock shuddered. John felt the head of his prick hit the back of Sherlock’s throat. He swallowed around it once, twice, and then drew back, breathing loudly through his nose. He could feel Sherlock start to stroke himself faster and pulled again with the same results.

They went back and forth like this until John couldn't’ hold on any longer. He gasped out a warning but Sherlock was relentless, swallowing around him as he came with a groan. Sherlock pulled off and drew himself up, hovering above John, hand flying on his own cock. “Kiss me. Just kiss me.”

John slid up quickly and pulled him forward, adjusting them so that Sherlock was straddling his lap. He used both hands to pull Sherlock’s head down to reach his mouth, giving his hair steady tugs as he kissed him hard, nipping on his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

A few more strokes and Sherlock was there, groaning loudly into John’s mouth. He shuddered as he came across John’s stomach. He pulled back, leaning his forehead against John’s, and smiled. John held him there and laughed quietly, kissing him again.

“What?” Sherlock curled around John, seeming quite content.

John shook his head. “You, you’re just-”

“I know. Me too.” He kissed John on the forehead, and scrambled off of him, heading to the loo for yet another damp flannel. John watched him go, fully appreciating the view in the very early morning light.

Sherlock carefully cleaned them both off and got back into bed, tucking himself up close to John’s side, who held him close. “You’re amazing. That was amazing.” He kissed his temple and murmured, “It was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Sherlock looked at him. “Really?”

“Really.” John kissed his lips and then yawned. “God I’m knackered, you?” It been a late night and it was still very early. Sherlock nodded, yawning himself, and then made himself comfortable again. John settled himself in the pillows, eyes closing.

“I love you so much.” He was answered with a small snore and smiled before following the example.  

\--

When John awoke for the second time that morning, he was thankful that he did not have a shift at the clinic. He reached out, expecting to find Sherlock sprawled on the other side of the bed, but only found cool sheets. Oh, and he smelled coffee. Sherlock had been up for a while then. He listened to see if he could pinpoint where Sherlock had gone when he heard what must have woken him up.

Voices in the sitting room. Damn.

He had hoped for a lazy morning in bed, but knew that it might be asking too much of Sherlock. The man rarely slept more than four or five hours at a time but had been out like a light for almost eight including the hour or two after the second round. That was quite a stretch for him. John sighed, reluctant to get up but also anxious to see Sherlock again. It was silly, he knew, but it still seemed so unreal.

He smiled, thinking about that disastrous date and what happened after. Finally. It had been years overdue and he was ready to throw himself into this whole-heartedly. He imagined that it would not be too terribly different from how they generally acted on a daily basis but with some fantastic additions.

He could still hear Sherlock’s voice and could just make out that the owner of the other voice was male, probably sodding Mycroft. He could just imagine some faceless minion delivering a report to him in the morning stating that subject S. Holmes had begun having sexual relations with subject J. Watson and what plan of action would he like to go with.

He sighed again and got up, searching for his clothes on the floor. If he was going to go and face Mycroft Holmes, he was going to do it with his trousers on. Unfortunately, in an uncharacteristic act of tidiness, his clothes had disappeared from where they had been flung. Great. He saw one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns hanging on the back of the door and shrugged. Nothing else for it.

It was far too long but at least it didn’t drag the ground. He wasn’t that bloody short, but he was still fairly certain that he looked ridiculous. He made sure that the belt was securely tied and squared his shoulders. Into battle. Or something like that. He padded down the hall and was just on his way through the kitchen when he heard someone speak that was decidedly not Mycroft.

Victor.

John froze halfway to the worktop where the kettle was sitting. He was contemplating retreating back to Sherlock’s room when he heard his name being called.

“John?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah? Um, was just, um, going to put the kettle on.” He busied himself with the kettle and didn’t turn to look at Sherlock as he made his way into the kitchen. He flipped the switch on and finally turned around.

Sherlock was already fully dressed, of course, and looked his usual gorgeously impeccable self while John slouched around in a dressing gown that was far too long for him with sleeves that drooped over his hands. _Perfect, just perfect_.

He looked up and tried not to fidget under Sherlock’s pale gaze. The silence dragged out until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “What?”

It was Sherlock’s turn to fidget. If John didn’t know better, he would say that he was embarrassed. “I rather like you wearing my dressing gown.”

“You do? I thought it looked ridiculous.”

“It’s very, um, endearing.” He looked startled at the admission and John just had to laugh. Sherlock grinned back at him and, to John’s surprise, backed him up against the worktop to kiss him thoroughly. They broke apart and Sherlock pressed his forehead to John’s, eyes closed, as if he was drinking in this moment. It was so touching and completely unexpected that John could feel the prickling of sudden tears. He blinked his eyes furiously to keep them at bay.

“Alright?”

“Hmm?” John cleared his throat to make sure that he had control of himself again. “Oh, fine, fine. You?”

Sherlock pulled him into his chest and grinned against the top of his head. “Fantastic.” He flipped the switch to turn the kettle off. “I made coffee.”

“You did, did you? You never make coffee.”

“I make coffee all the time!”

John laughed at his indignant face. “No, you really don’t.” He glanced toward the sitting room. “Was that Victor I heard?”

Sherlock moved back and stared at his hands where they were smoothing the lapels of the dressing gown across John’s chest. “He is apparently taking Mrs. Hudson to lunch.”

John gaped at him. “Seriously?”

Sherlock nodded, still not looking at him. “She met him last night when he was leaving after-”

“After I came over to talk some sense into you? She’s a great lady, by the way.” Victor had come into the kitchen without them noticing. “Sorry about the other night, John. Huge misunderstanding.”

John stared at him, not quite sure how to react. “Um, yeah?” He moved in front of Sherlock without thinking about it and felt Sherlock’s hands on his shoulders. “It all worked out in the end, so no hard feelings.” Sherlock gave his shoulders a squeeze.

Victor grinned at them. “I’m really happy for you. For both of you.” He turned to get his coat where it was draped over the back of John’s chair. He put it on and turned back to them. “Mrs. H is waiting but I wanted to say something before Mycroft can come and be totally overbearing and creepy about it.” He looked at John, suddenly serious. “Take care of him. He deserves it, no matter what he thinks. You deserve it, too.” He smiled again. “See you later.”

“Victor!” John called to him, pulling away from Sherlock. Victor stopped at the door to look at him. “Don’t worry, I will.”

“Good. We should get a drink sometime, John, because I have so very many stories.” Victor grinned and trotted down the stairs.

John looked back at Sherlock and was puzzled by the expression on his face. He was watching the doorway where Victor had just disappeared and looked confused. As if he couldn't believe that anyone would actually be happy for him. It made John's heart hurt.

They both had so much time to make up for.

  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are...the last chapter of the first part of what I think will be a trilogy. I'm not sure if the final stories will be one shots or chaptered pieces (who am I kidding? I can't write anything short!) but there will be more in this version of the boys!
> 
> Thanks again to my beta extraordinaire Gowerstreet (seriously, go read her stuff, it's awesome!)
> 
> And thanks as always to my bestie Diewarm who puts up with my fic rants day and night.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 12

Three Months Later

"Sherlock?"

John had just got home from one of his rapidly declining shifts at the clinic. He had changed back to locum work shortly after they had both finally got their collective heads out of their arses. He'd much rather be chasing after Sherlock on cases than wiping runny noses at the clinic every day.

He heard the tinkle of glassware from the kitchen and followed the sound to see what chaos Sherlock had caused in his absence. He was greeted with the sight of Sherlock, still in his pajamas, staring intently into his microscope with no indication that he even realized that John was there.

John smiled and leaned against the door frame to watch. Sherlock turned the dials and scribbled notes but he didn’t look up. He had goggles firmly in place on the top of his head, causing his curls to stand out wildly in a way that John found immensely endearing and, he would never say it out loud, adorable. He cleared his throat. “Case?”

Sherlock looked up at the sound of his voice, completely caught off guard. “You’re home early.”

“No I’m not. It’s after six, love.” John shook his head as Sherlock glanced at his mobile to check the time. “Have you been there all day?”

“I suppose so.” Sherlock blinked. “I’m hungry.” He looked confused at this statement. John laughed.

He rounded the table and dropped a kiss on Sherlock's cheek, retrieving the goggles that were still perched ridiculously on top of his head. “Go get dressed and let’s go out to feed you, yeah?”

Sherlock had a hopeful look on his face. “Angelo’s?”

“Sounds good. I’ll call for our table, alright?” John smiled again at Sherlock’s grin as he headed for their room. It was John’s favorite grin, the one that made his eyes crinkled. It just made him realize yet again exactly how much he adored that man. He made the reservation and put his mobile down, only to have it ping with a text message.

** Pint? VT **

** Can’t. Taking HRH out to dinner. Tomorrow? JW **

** Sounds good. The usual? VT **

** Do you think you can get him to join us? VT **

John snickered. Victor, for some reason, seemed to think that John possessed magical powers when it came to getting Sherlock Holmes to do something that he didn’t want to do. Despite his now varied methods of persuasion, there was no way he could get Sherlock to go to a _pub_.

“Sherlock?” He heard a muffled sound from the direction of their bedroom. “Victor wants to know if you want to go for a pint tomorrow night.”

Sherlock strode into the sitting room, putting on his jacket. He held out his hand for the phone. “May I?” John gave it to him and watched as he fired off a text to Victor. Sherlock was pleased that John and Victor had become friendly, but that didn’t mean that he wanted anything to do with it. He knew all they did was talk about him anyway. He handed the phone back to John and wrapped a hand around the back of neck to pull him in for a chaste kiss. “Not on your life.” John looked to see what Sherlock had written.

** I’d rather have cake with Mycroft. SH **

** Well, there’s your answer. I’ll see you tomorrow. JW **

“Ready?” Sherlock pulled on his coat and waited by the door. John looked at him and it hit him, as it sometimes did, out of the blue how close they had been to not having this. How they had both stood in the way so many times, in so many different ways. He walked over and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, sliding them under his coat to pull him close. He rested his head against Sherlock’s chest, breathing him in.

Sherlock had automatically wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, not entirely sure what brought this on. He was still wading his way through the aspects of being in a relationship, but he had found that this was what he craved. Physical affection. He held John tight, willing to wait it out because he would always wait for John. He was the only person that Sherlock would ever slow down for, just to make sure that they were side by side.

“Alright, John?”

John nodded against his chest. “Yeah, love. Alright.” He stepped back and went up on his toes to kiss Sherlock. It started out chaste but he lingered for a moment, taking his time. “Sorry. Just getting all soppy for no reason. It’s just, I feel lucky, you know? I’ll stop now.” He started for the door when Sherlock’s quiet voice stopped him.

“Me too.” John looked at him in surprise and gave him a small smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes, breaking the seriousness of the moment and stepped forward, guiding John with a hand on the small of his back. “Now, if we are quite done with this bout of sentimentality, I believe you were interested in feeding me up? Isn’t that what one does?”

John laughed. “Yeah, that’s what one does. Let’s go.”

They clattered down the stairs together, as they had hundreds of times before and would thousands of times again.

Side by side.

Always.    


End file.
